


Long Time Gone

by buffydyke



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/F, and has many nods to the Dixie Chicks, this is gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 19:04:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8025445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buffydyke/pseuds/buffydyke
Summary: The autumn after her mother's death, Tara moves to Texas. At a county fair, she meets a girl that just might be who she's looking for.





	Long Time Gone

**Author's Note:**

> I love the concept of Fred x Tara ok. So much. This is the first of an ongoing series of one shots, because why not.
> 
> This was sort of rushed, but super fluffy :') Apart from Tara thinking about her mother. Because ouch.
> 
> I included several of my own headcanons in this, including Tara's gay aunts. They're my faves.
> 
> Brief allusions to abuse but only if you squint. 
> 
> Also: I've never been to Alabama OR Texas. Please don't take my depictions or descriptions of them to heart. 
> 
> Anyway. Enjoy! And catch me on tumblr at [](http://wlwbuffy.tumblr.com>wlwbuffy</a>.)

In Alabama, county fairs were a regular thing.

A few nights each fall, the town of Brookwood sat in awe as rides and attractions were carted in. A field a few miles from the local high school served as their oasis, and families flocked in from neighboring towns to experience world famous funnel cakes, dunking booths, and livestock shows. Complete with a ferris wheel, the site was enough to lure people out from every corner of Tuscaloosa county.

Fairs in Dallas were much different.

Tara helplessly nudged her way through the crowd, desperately trying to find some place that wasn't swarmed with people. Beneath her feet, remnants of nachos and candy apple sticks crunched as the mini roller coaster nearby rattled away, adding to the noise and chaos.

It was times like these that Tara actually started to miss Alabama. 

The decision to come to Texas had been hasty, and Tara Maclay did not take hasty decisions lightly. It had come about after a panicked phone call to her aunts, in which she had sobbed about how hard things had gotten at home. Her father hadn't been coping well with her mother's death. He'd always been a drinker, but emotional strain made things worse. Tara always caught the blunt end of things. This had been no exception. 

The next week, they had sent her a bus ticket, and Tara left Alabama for good.

Living with Aunt Marianne and Aunt Ava had been great, for the most part. They had a tiny house just outside Dallas, filled with knick knacks and herbs and every kind of magic paraphernalia Tara could have imagined. Their garden was home to more vegetables than Tara had ever seen, and occasionally, their old rooster would come in through the dog door and make his presence known.

They were a sweet couple. Tara was grateful for everything they had done for her. 

Tara's mother -- Christine -- had always said that she and Ava were two sides of the same coin. Born and raised from the western Alabama soil, they had grown up just as close as two sisters could be. And it was easy to tell that Ava and Christine were sisters. They both had spindly blonde hair, the same quiet, reserved disposition, and a shared love for the mystical side of life. 

Sometimes, Ava looked so much like Christine that Tara couldn't bear to look at her.

Escaping from the heap of people, Tara took a moment to catch her breath. Fairs in Alabama had felt big because nearly everyone in the county came to them. Fairs in Dallas felt big because they _were_. Tara swore she'd never seen so many people in her life.

A few feet away the ferris wheel spun, its lights shining bright against the night sky, and Tara could just barely make out figures inside the carriages. Admittedly, she was starting to regret her decision to come here. Ava had said it would be good for her to get out and have some fun, but crowds weren't exactly her idea of fun. It was hard to have a good time when you were alone at a fair. 

"You like the Dixie Chicks?"

The comment startled Tara back to her senses, and she found herself looking at another girl. She looked a bit older, even with her chestnut hair done up in pigtails. Tara couldn't help but notice the way her paisley print blouse fit in all the right ways. She was the type of girl that Tara had grown up with back home, and she was the type of girl that Tara always seemed to be drawn to.

"… O-oh. Yeah. I do." Tara said. Social interaction had never really been her strong suit, especially not with cute girls. She desperately hoped that the lights from the ride weren't enough to show she was blushing. 

"So do I!" The girl enthused. Her accent was thick, and she had one of those smiles that was captivating. It made the edges of Tara's mouth curl up in response. "Sorry, I just got excited. I noticed your shirt. I saw them when they came here _years_ ago. I'm… a big fan." 

Oh. Right. The shirt.

It had been the best night of her life, actually. She'd been young; barely even twelve. Her mother had saved up for months and gotten tickets to the concert. They'd driven for hours, but it had been worth every mile and penny. They'd danced, sang along, and had the best time of Tara's entire life.

Back then, the thought that her mother would ever get sick seemed so far off from possibility. Christine was so full of life, and her love for her daughter knew no bounds. 

It was one of those memories that made Tara so happy yet so, so sad. Some days, she couldn't decide which one to feel. 

"I saw them too," Tara said. From somewhere in the distance, she could smell funnel cakes frying. Food sounded good. Food was a nice distraction. "In Montgomery. It was the best night of my life." Honestly, she was surprised that her voice wasn't entirely shaking.

From the girl's expression, she seemed to empathize with the ' _best night of my life_ ' statement. 

Nearby, Tara watched as a few patrons of the ferris wheel left their carriage. One of the little girls hopped down from the buggie, laughing as it swayed from the action. Even if Tara hated ferris wheels -- and heights in general -- she supposed there was merit to something that could bring that much enjoyment. 

After a moment, the girl spoke again. "Are you going up?"

Tara stumbled for words. "O-oh," she said. "I don't know. Heights aren't really… my thing."

The girl frowned. "Are you sure?" She asked. "I'll go with you. I was here with friends, but I kinda… got lost."

Tara made a face.

"No, it's fine!" The girl waved her hands in front of her. "I was at the livestock show, and I guess I looked at the sheep a little too long. I'll find them eventually!"

Tara sincerely hoped her friends weren't actually sheep. 

"… Okay," she agreed hesitantly. "The line doesn't look too bad." 

If this counted as a bad decision, at least there was a cute girl involved. 

Despite the crowd, the line moved relatively fast. Tara found herself staring up at the wheel, her heart thumping in her chest as she watched it spin and circle. Somehow, though, the cute girl happily waiting for their turn and the excited little kids in front of them made the wait a lot less scary. 

There were lots of seats on the ferris wheel -- it was _huge_ \-- and before long, Tara and the girl were getting in one of the carriages. There was a reason Tara didn't like ferris wheels, or heights in _general_. She never felt quite safe in the carriages. They always seemed a bit un-sturdy, and for some reason, they always started to sway at the exact wrong moment.

As the carriage began to climb, Tara was regretting her decision. Hands gripping stiffly at the edge of the seat, she couldn't help but play out every negative outcome this situation could produce. Unsurprisingly, there were a lot.

"Are you okay?" The girl asked after a moment. Her concern sounded genuine. "You… kinda look not okay."

"I-I'm fine," Tara assured her. Admittedly, she wasn't, but there was no need to alarm the girl with the fact that Tara was a huge baby. "It's just high."

Almost instinctively, the girl shifted to another subject. Tara was grateful. At least it would take her mind off impending doom. 

"I'm Fred, by the way."

Fred. A bit strange, but it suited her. God, she really was Tara's type.

"Tara," she replied with as much of a smile as she could muster.

"Are you from Alabama?" The girl -- _Fred_ \-- asked. As much as Tara normally hated talking about herself, the fact that Fred was interested enough to ask her questions was… comforting, really. "It's just that you mentioned Montgomery, and that's in Alabama, and I know it's possible that you're not actually from there and I'm just jumping to conclusions and… I talk to much." She frowned. 

Tara laughed. Even if it was a bit shaky from anxiety, it was genuine. "I'm from Alabama," he said. "I moved here a few weeks ago."

Fred's face lit up. "Wow! That's great," she said. "I've lived in Dallas my whole life. … Or, I have until this spring. I'm going to school in Los Angeles, so I'll be heading out on my own." Her tone had a hint of both fear and excitement. 

Los Angeles. Hm. Tara thought back to that email she'd gotten about a week ago from some college in California. Not Los Angeles, of course, but somewhere else. What was its name…?

All of a sudden, the wheel came to a halt. Having reached the top, the carriage swayed back and forth from the sudden, and even behind its protective bars Tara still felt incredibly… well, _vulnerable_. Out of instinct, Tara gripped for the thing closest to her.

… Which happened to be Fred's hand.

"… Oh!" Tara exclaimed, pulling her hand away. The action made the carriage sway even more. A blush came rolling over her face. Great. She'd made even _more_ a fool out of herself. "Sorry! The stop… scared me."

Fred shook her head vigorously. "No! I don't mind," she said. "If it makes you feel better, hold my hand."

Reluctantly, Tara put her hand back on top of Fred's. A soon as she did, the wheel began moving again, and they moved a notch closer to the ground. And, god, if she wasn't blushing before…

"I used to be scared of heights," Fred said after a moment. "Then my dad built me a tree house. I made him stand right by the tree in case I fell off the ladder. Then he'd make some cheesy joke about how I'd just turn into an apple if I fell, because I'm the apple of his eye." 

Somehow, the story brought a smile to Tara's face. It reminded her of something her mother would say.

"I used to like climbing," Tara began. "When I was little. We had a barn near our house, and my brother and I used to play in there. But he pushed me out of the rafters one morning when I was six, and I haven't liked heights since."

At that, Fred frowned. "That sounds horrible," she said. "Falling, I mean. I don't have any brothers or sisters. I'm sure it's not always fun. I kinda wish I had some, though. It'd probably make my parents less scared about me leaving for California." 

Tara wasn't sure how to say that 'not always fun' was understatement, so she just nodded. Donnie had never been much of a brother to her.

After a few more stops, they finally reached the ground, and the duo hurried off the ferris wheel. Admittedly, Tara and glad to be back on steady ground. A few more minutes on that thing and her stomach would start feeling a bit more than woozy. 

"That was fun!" Fred enthused. In the wheel's glowing lights, she looked simultaneously innocent and perfect. "It's not often that I can use my awkwardness to make a friend." She smiled, and Tara felt like her heart was going to leap out of her chest. She really needed to stop falling for every girl that spoke to her.

"I should probably try to find my friends," Fred continued after a moment, "but if you're coming again tomorrow, I think they're having another round in the livestock show! Maybe we could meet up. … If you want to. I think I'm talking too much again."

At that, Tara shook her head. "No," she spoke through a smile. "I’d love that." 

Maybe, just maybe, Tara was beginning to like Texas.


End file.
